


Intertwine

by Mechtadyne



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward First Times, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 01:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3190169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mechtadyne/pseuds/Mechtadyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Tender, gentle, her skin is soft to touch. She smells of roses and tea and tastes like honeyed fruits. She whispers my name to me every night, and I feel complete, at home, at peace. I love her.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intertwine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the Dragon Age kink meme, here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/12149.html?thread=47524469#t47524469

The soft silks don’t feel nearly as warm or comforting as she remembers. There is a dreary beam of moonlight that flits through her window curtains, and in her sleepless rest she stares at the particles of dust that shift through it, dancing in silence. Evelyn sighs softly to herself, squeezing her eyes shut as she stares at the black fluttering of her lids.

The nightmares had always come relentlessly since the attack on Adamant Fortress. Sometimes, she dreams of the Nightmare and the creatures who obeyed it, their fangs crushing deep into her body and the bodies of her friends – a sacrifice long since made that still haunts her even now. Other times it was of the lyrium dragon, the way it tore apart the skies with its screams and the echoing crack of bones as Morrigan crumpled into herself, form no longer of a grand beast but a small and outmatched mother. And others it was of Corypheus himself, staring at her through the blanket of darkness that surrounded them.

But most times, it is not battle or beasts that frighten her, but rather the quiet that rings through her head as she walked Skyhold’s grounds. For a year she had made the Inquisition her home, and yet now, her home was elsewhere, scattered across corners of Thedas she could no longer reach.

Some left amicably, with understandable goals. She couldn’t hold back the advance of the world in an attempt to keep her friends close. It would be terribly selfish of her, wouldn’t it?

But sometimes Evelyn wants to be selfish. She has already given so much to the Inquisition; to Thedas. Perhaps she could fool herself with an illusion of power, that she possesses the influence that could keep all she held dear close.

They slip through her fingers though, each one, some with whispered goodbyes and one without a word at all. And while some remain with her, like Bull, who still fondly calls her boss despite the termination of his contract, or Blackwall, who flits across the courtyard and stables as he trains recruits, she knows that in time, they will be gone too.

She slinks into sleep again, the first time tonight. It’s cold; at least, her bed and her dreams are. She dreams of that night again, the one after Haven. She is alone, coughing and spluttering in the snow. She can’t feel her fingers or her nose, and it hurts to open her eyes as the harsh and dry winds buffet against her poorly shielded skin. She is white, like the mountains, and Evelyn doesn’t know if it’s the cold or the moonlight that colours her so. It’s been hours now, and she crumbles under the side of an outcrop, resting her cheek against the icy surface of rock.

Evelyn wants to cry, but the rush of tears stings her nose and her eyes. So instead she lies down in the snow, white and blue as the winds blow over and bury her alone on the mountaintop.

Evelyn shakes awake, covered in cold sweat, her toes curling from the frosty touch of her wooden bed frame.  She reminds herself she is here, at Skyhold, in her tower and safe and sound. It’s dreadfully lonely though, so she rocks herself against her silk pillow, like mother once did when she was younger, and cries into her hands.

The creak of a door echoes across the room, and while once she would have been embarrassed, she now doesn’t seem to care. She sobs into the duvet as footsteps climb up the steps and stop by the edge of her room, as if uncertain and wary.

It is silent for a while, and Evelyn forgets that there was even someone there when she feels calloused hands pull away strands of long hair from her face and glide across her shoulders. Her head sinks slightly as they sit next to her, their weight pulling down on her bed.

“You aren’t alone.” Says a cool and soft whisper.

Evelyn wipes away the tears with a long draw of her forearm and looks up from her crumpled position.

It’s Cole, whose silver eyes stare at her through the dark. His hands fall from her shoulder, and he places one smoothly into the folds of her fingers. He is still unkempt, but different now to what he once was all those months ago. While once, she never saw him in any clothes but the ones he arrived him, he now wears something different, actual sleepwear that is a rich brown and smells newly washed. His hair is still messy, barely brushed, yet the blond strands don’t fall across his eyes as they used, and Evelyn can see his face in full. His skin is not blotched red and bruised, but instead simply pale, yet full of life.

“How did you get into my room?” Evelyn blurts out softly. Her voice is not accusatory though, and she asks gently.

“The door was locked, but I could feel your pain in your sleep.” he told her, gripping her hand tighter, “Eyes stinging, fingertips cold and frosted. The wind is wild and weary, thundering and stammering. Where are the others, where are they? A single smoke in the distance, screaming sighs of snow at my back. Must keep going, must keep moving. I want to go home. Snow is cold and unforgiving, yet gentle against my cheek, darkness almost welcoming. I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want to be alone.”

Evelyn chokes back a muffled cry. She pulls away from Cole, hands covering her mouth. As she sobs though, he pulls closer, a hand on her shoulder.

“You aren’t alone anymore, Evelyn.” he tells her, staring keenly at her. “They all left because they had to. But they carry pieces of you with them, in their hearts. You aren’t alone.”

“Cole…” she whispers, her fingers reaching for the fabric of his shirt as she grabs him, desperately scrunching, clinging, “I’m so tired.”

“Sleep.” He tells her, but she sobs into his lap.

“I can’t anymore. The nightmares keep coming.”

“She sings to me, swings me asleep. _They can’t get to you here, sweet thing, not while I’m around_. Her fingers dance through my hair and down my back, twirling, twining, twisting. She smells like roses and sweet tea, and she hums as she rocks. She is sweet and she is soothing, serenading, always there when the nightmares are. They are scared of her.” He whispers in his soft, trance-like voice. 

“I can stay.” Cole tells her, fingers awkwardly trailing against her shoulders, as if he isn’t sure what to do. “Until you fall asleep. Like your mother.”

 _Please_ , she begs him, but she’s unsure if she speaks it. He understands though and reaches over her, pulling her sheets over her to protect her from the cold. Evelyn curls into his lap, and he runs his fingers across her back in a familiar manner, so she feels at home again, like all of this had never happened.

He is humming, she thinks, and her heavy lids close as she listens to him sing.

* * *

Have hours passed when she finally sleeps? She does though, eventually, her breathing falling into rhythmic beats of breath. Cole strokes her cheek, pushes aside strands of her hair that mar her face. He has watched her sleep before, many times in fact, as they wandered throughout southern Thedas the past year. Tonight though, her brows are not knit together, but relaxed. Her breath does not sound battered, but honeyed and sweet.

Cole strokes her cheek, and his fingers brush against the soft pink of her lips. He feels strange, suddenly, unwanted – as if he doesn’t belong, as if he had walked into an intimate moment, where he is unwelcome. He is suddenly aware of the pounding in his chest. His heart, he remembers. He is human now, at least he thinks so. Varric told him so, as did Solas and even Evelyn herself.

He places a tender hand against his chest as he counts the beats. One, two, three, four…they go on and on, and he continues to count, as if unsure they are real. He glances at Evelyn and forgets the number he had reached. Gently, he moves her, and pulls away from her form. She does not stir, but rather nestles into the soft of her pillow. Cole’s lap feels empty suddenly, the weight of her head gone now.

He looks at her for only a moment longer before her turns to step off, but a stray hand reaches for his own, and he feels Evelyn’s fingers tangle with his.

“Don’t go.” She whispers so softly that Cole almost didn’t hear her. He can barely see the small open slit of her lids as she looks intensely at him through the dark.

Suddenly, Cole feels sad, empty, feelings he is unused to _feeling_ rather than hearing. Her fingers grip tightly to his, and she whispers to him again.

“Please stay.” She asks, and after a moment’s pause where he hears nothing but the pounding of his chest, Cole nods slowly. He removes his wide brimmed hat, placing it on the bed side table as he was taught to do by Vivienne when she told him about manners. He slips his shoes off and lays his feet awkwardly on the bed, unsure exactly what to do. He had never needed to sleep before, and still doesn’t.

He lies on his side, watching her. Evelyn curls beside him, placing a tender hand against his chest as her eyes flutter and close again. He is so close to her he can count each of her eyelashes, and he can feel her hot breath by his arm. As he had done for her, he pulls the sheet up to cover him as well, and then counts her breaths as she sleeps.

He can hear her heart beat too – a soft and gentle thudding that reverberates though his mind. Cole feels warmth in his chest and a flutter in his heart beat as he watches her intently, reaching up to cup her cheek in his hand. He thumbs her cheekbone and massages the skin behind her ear.

She sleeps, and he stares, watching, guarding her from horrors throughout the night.

* * *

“What’s this?” Evelyn asks. Cole sits quietly opposite the dinner table as he slides the papers across the table. “Are you giving me paperwork too?”

“They’re letters.” He tells her, and she reaches to grab them after she stuffs another spoon full of rice into her mouth.

“From Varric, Cassandra and Vivienne.” He tells her as she chews and shuffles through them.

He’s right, of course. The first she can tell immediately, the precise yet delicate handwriting of an Orlesian noblewoman near glowing in contrast with the others. She slips Vivienne’s letter back on the table to see Cassandra’s, signed and sealed appropriately with the stamp of the Divine. The seal is, surprisingly, unbroken, and Evelyn glances at Cole and wonders exactly where he received these if not from Leliana. And after Cassandra’s is of course Varric, and she presses the letter to her nose, the smell of the Free Marches wafting through her nostrils.

She goes to open Varric’s when another letter falls from behind it. Curiously, she glances at Cole, who says nothing, then replaced Varric with the mystery note. It is unsigned on one side, and when she turns it, her heart skips a beat as she recognises the fine strokes of ink that she is so familiar with.

“It’s from Maxwell.” She says. She traces the lettering delicately and smiles. He had not written her for a while yet, not since they had move from Haven to Skyhold, and it worried her. She tentatively opens the letter and begins to read.

It is a short but sweet note. He is apologetic as he explains. The Free Marches are a war zone littered with refugees, he writes. He has had little time to settle or send word, as he has helped shepherd refugees from fields to caves to villages. But he sends his love and well wishes, a note of pride etched in his handwriting about all her accomplishments, and it makes Evelyn smile. _Let’s see each other again soon_ , the letter finishes.

“Maxwell is your brother.” Coles says as soon as Evelyn has finished reading, “He smiles at me and laughs, braiding garden roses through my hair. They are prickly, and he cuts himself, but laughs. His hands are strong and winding, wrapping and twirling, and soon my hair is beautiful, just as he is.”

“I haven’t heard from him in a while,” Evelyn explains, “He’s a traveller. I was…beginning to worry.”

“He wants to see you. He misses you, the little sister stolen from him. He thinks he failed you.” Cole says suddenly. Evelyn looks at him with surprise, but he continues. “Cold, cramped caves, cracks of cackling thunder that scares the little ones. He cradles a girl who sobs, squeals, screams as she slumbers. _Hush little one_ , he says, _be calm, little rose_. Hurt blooms in his chest, and he cries too, empty and guilty.”

“He’s been protecting refugees.” Evelyn tells Cole. She looks solemnly at her hands, but then smiles. “He used to call me his little rose when I cried. He was always close by. It made me feel better. Safe.”

“I hear you cry, sometimes. Should I call you little rose too?” Cole asks her innocently. She giggles softly and sweetly then glides her fingers over his knuckles.

“Just be close by.” She tells him.

* * *

He has stayed with her each night since the first. She fits so neatly into the crook of his neck, breathing hot air against him. Each time, he almost flinches, her rosy breath tickling him. She lies atop one of his arms, but with the other, he gently caresses her arm. It is comforting, somehow, watching her sleep. She has had no nightmares since he came.

The first night, just before she wakes, he shuffles away from her and is gone before she can realize. He can feel her confusion as he walks through her door though, and it hurts him. The second night, he can hear her cry again from across the fort. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t quite understand how, but also doesn’t quite care, but when she hurts, he hurts too.

When she wakes and cries, he comes to her, and she almost smiles at him through tears – almost. He strokes her cheek again and she sleeps on his shoulder. When morning comes though, he stays and watches her blink awake, and they lay there together, silently, for an hour more before he wordlessly leaves her as others in Skyhold began to rise.

It becomes routine. He approaches her each night, in the dead of night, after she would lay motionless but sleepless in her sheets. He feels her pain, and he comes to her, but one day he wonders if the pain he senses is not that of nightmares but one of loneliness instead. Does she long for his presence? Cole ponders the thought often.

It is only today that he realises that he longs for her too.

When he sits alone along the rafters of the tavern today, listening to Maryden’s honeyed words as he thinks of Evelyn, he feels it again – the sharp stab of pain that shoots through his chest. This time, though, he understands. He knows what it means now.

When he felt it first a month ago as he passed through the main hall, glimpsing at her, he thought he was dying. He wanted to talk to her, to ask her of it, but the thought of facing her unnerved him for a reason he couldn’t understand. Tentatively, he picked up a pen and paper for possibly the first time in his life, and scribbled haphazardly a letter to Varric that he sent off that hour. The reply he received was short.

_Emotions, eh? That’s the greatest thing about humanity, kid. You should go to her._

He waits for her on the steps up to her room, beyond the door. As she walks in, undoing her long black hair from the tight bun that holds it, she stops and stares at him. Cole stands and plays idly with his hands, not quite sure whether he should look at her. When he does though, she is smiling, and he smiles back.

“You look beautiful.” He tells her honestly. She blinks at him, surprised, and Cole wonders if he has done wrong again, if he should have said something else. Before he can apologise though, she wraps her fingers around his and thanks him.

Her hands are warm and so much smaller and softer than his. He wants to clasp both of them between his, to press them against his chest. Wordlessly, she leads him up the stairs and leaves him at her bed. She disappears behind another door, and when she emerges again, she has changed from dirt brown leathers so soft, rosy silks than fall and catch on her hips and breasts.

They don’t say anything. She helps Cole remove his outer clothes and hat, and smooths his hair as she brushes it away from his eyes. She sits next to him on the bed, and he reaches for her, placing a gentle hand against her cheek. She catches it with her own and holds it close to her face. She presses her lips to his palms then pulls away and into the covers.

Cole lies with her and drinks the smell of her hair as she nestles herself against him, like she has done every night the past month. He can feel a fluttering in his chest that warms him, and sometimes he is short of breath, but he likes it. She moves to wrap her arms around him, to embrace him, and as he moves to hold her back she presses her lips against his cheek like she had done to his palm, then sinks into his arms, leaving him breathless.

* * *

When Blackwall leaves, she cries. She encourages it, of course, she wants him to go and undertake his joining proper. But as she hugs him that one final time, he catches her hand and kisses it like the gentleman he is. She cries as she watches him and two other wardens disappear into the mountains.

It is only Cole and Bull now who remain. Bull disappears often; he is a mercenary, after all. But after each job, he returns, and it’s an event that brightens her day whenever he returns. Skyhold has become something of a base of operations for the Bull’s Chargers, which disgruntles Cullen but pleases Evelyn. She will always welcome him and his men home.

Cole never leaves Skyhold though. Not without her. When she journeys into the Ferelden Hinterlands on odd jobs and lingering Inquisition business to help rebuild the nation, he is there. He is silent, and never too close, but never too far either, and he watches over her like a guardian or a mabari, fiercely loyal and protective.

So when Blackwall leaves, she sits with Cole in the gardens to overcome the sorrow of losing another friend. It is a serene place, where she can collect her thoughts and find peace. She closes her eyes and smiles, throwing her head back and drinking in the fresh smells of elfroot and embrium. When she opens them again, Cole is gone, fluttering through garden bushes. She smiles but pays him little mind as she lies on the bench, not caring for the few glances thrown her way.

Evelyn unties her braid and lets her hair flow. She turns her head and curiously watches Cole plucking flowers from the hedges. He was always a curious one, doing curious things, but despite all his strange curiosities, Evelyn feels fiercely protective of him. She appreciates his presence, and there is nothing that she enjoys more these days than the nights, when he would wait for her at the bottom of her bedroom stairs and accompany her to sleep.

She giggles to herself at the thought and watches the clouds, smiling. What would her mother think if she knew her daughter shared a bed with another? What would the noblewoman of Otswick, Lady Trvelyan, think of her unmarried daughter, the sweet virgin girl who had never so much as kissed a boy or girl before, wrapping her limbs around Cole each night as she drank his scent and kissed his cheeks? Her mother would scold her, Evelyn thinks. Perhaps her father would threaten her, but not before he threatened Cole. She laughs at the thought and, at least a little, feels grateful that the circle had taken her away. She is no noblewoman, and the life of a Trevelyan, similar to that of her mother’s, does not suit her well.

Her thoughts come to Maxwell next, her sweet brother. She misses him so. What would he think of his sweet little sister sharing a bed with a boy? She giggles at the thought of him running across the continent, brows knit in anger and face red, ready to teach her better than to lay with a strange spirit boy.

She disagrees though. Cole is not a strange spirit boy, not to her. Not anymore. Perhaps, two years ago, if she was told she’d spent each night nestled against the boy, she would have screamed. Yet somehow Cole is not unfamiliar or wrong to her. When she sleeps with him, it is calming. When she presses her forehead against his, it feels right. And when she wraps her arms around his neck and he holds her back, staring at her with an intensity that makes her blush, she wants nothing more than to press her lips against him, to taste his tongue with her own and feel his hands on her breast.

Cole whispers something to her, and it shocks her out of her stupor. She remembers suddenly that she is in the gardens, not alone, and her cheeks flush brilliantly as Cole stares blankly at her. She bolts upright on the bench, suddenly wanting to hide. She wonders if he felt what she felt, _saw_ what she thought. She covers her face in her hands and wants to retreat to her bedroom, suddenly feeling naked in the garden.

“Evelyn?” He says, trying to grab her attention. His voice is soft and laced with worry. Evelyn moves her fingers aside and peeks at him. He holds bright red roses in his hand, freshly picked. His fingers are pricked and raw, she can tell, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Are you okay?” He asks her, and she nods.

“I’m fine, Cole.” He smiles at her and sits beside her on the bench. “You collected roses?”

“Yes. Like your brother. Hands pricked, but working, twirling, laced in long black hair that soothes me almost to sleep. Can I put them in your hair?” he asks.

She smiles at him. He remembered. The roses are a brilliant red, mirroring the ones that bloomed in the Trevelyan courtyards. He holds them in a bunch, and Evelyn cups his hands and raises the flowers towards her. She smells them and thinks of spring leaves and the joy of her childhood.

“Of course you can.” She tells Cole, then turns her back to him. He haphazardly begins to lace his fingers through her hair, confused but gentle. He doesn’t know what to do, Evelyn can tell, but she doesn’t care. His touch is tender and welcome, and it tickles her scalp. He knows too much about her, grazing his nails against just the right places of her scalp that almost make her moan aloud.

He starts to sing, a sweet childhood song she always loved. It lulls her into a calmness that reminds her keenly of all the things that bring her happiness, and for the first time in a long time, she feels truly content.

* * *

She is in her room, working through paperwork. Cole isn’t quite sure what brought him here. It is only sunset, not at all an appropriate time to sleep, yet he feels a longing to be near her that he can’t ignore. He strides up her stairs with well-practiced steps and watches her as she writes, the sound of quill against parchment filling his ears.

“Evelyn.” He calls to her, and she looks up at him and smiles. She closes her inkwell and places her quill neatly on the table, then steps slowly across the room to greet him.

“I missed you.” He told her honestly, not quite sure what else to say.

“I missed you too.” Cole feels happy to hear those words. He smiles at her as she takes his hand in her own. “Will you spend time with me?”

“What are you doing now?” he asks her.

“A report for Cullen, about our recent venture to the Storm Coast. Boring stuff, truly. I’d much rather do something else.”

“Isn’t it important though?”

“It is. But so are you.” She says it so simply, as if it were a simple matter of fact. But the words send a jolt through Cole and suddenly he feels both nervous and something else entirely, something that unnerves him because he doesn’t know how to satisfy the feeling.

“Am I important to you, Evelyn?” he asks her, taking a step closer. She seems to catch her breath before responding.

“Of course you are, Cole.” She says. He steps closer still, so close he is almost pressed to her. She looks up, meeting his gaze nervously. She isn’t much shorter than him, but at this distance, he strains his neck to look down at her. He gently cups her cheeks with both hands, caressing his thumbs against them. Her cheeks feel warm, like his heart.

“You are the most important thing in the world to me.” It’s the truth, so he tells her. She places her hands against his chest and closes her eyes, resting her head against his shoulder. Cole wraps his arms around her, holding her close, yet not close enough. He wants more.

He pulls away from her slightly and traces his fingers down her cheek and to her chin. Tenderly, he tilts her head up to look at him, and he realizes he has never seen a look of such longing before. He bends down and presses his lips against her cheek, as she does for him each night before she sleeps.

He hears her giggle as he pulls away. She cups his face in her hands and presses her forehead against his own. After a moment, she presses her lips to his cheek as well as she slides her arms around his neck. Cole closes his eyes and drinks her scent, holding her tightly as the soft curve of her breast presses against his chest. He feels her breath hot on his, and his heart pounds so hard his chest hurts.

“I love you, Cole.” He hears her whisper. It is soft, and she is so close that her words press against his lips.

He opens his mouth to reply, but instead feels the tenderness of her lips against his own. She opens and closes her mouth, nervously pulling him closer as he does the same to her. It is an awkward and strange sensation that he doesn’t understand, but it comforts him. It ends too soon though, sooner than he wants, so when she tries to pull away, Cole doesn’t let her. Her pulls her back into his embrace and repeats her motions, grazing his lips against hers as he laces his fingers through her hair.

She sighs heavily against his lips as she pulls at his neck, and Cole wants more. He can feel the wet warmth of her tongue pressing against his lips, and he tries to match her motions. Their teeth bump awkwardly into each other, and she laughs at him, a smile against his lips. She tries again though, and when her tongue slides into his mouth again and presses against his, Cole can’t help but smile back. He drinks her warmth and she tastes of fruits, which he likes.

They stay like that, entangled in each other for who knows how long, but Cole doesn’t mind. When they tire of standing, Evelyn leads him to her bed, and they wrap around each other beneath the sheets. Cole never lets her go, holding her against his body as he wants nothing more but to taste her lips and tongue again and again.

They talk for hours after that, between kisses. She talks about Ostwick, what she remembers of her home with her family, and of the circle she lived within. Cole doesn’t say much, only listens. He likes the way she weaves words together. Her fingers dance across his chest as she speaks, and he plays with her hair. Sometimes, she rests her head on his chest, and sometimes he rests on her, against her breast. But always, they are together, entangled, and Cole doesn’t want to leave.

When she finally sleeps, Cole feels tired too. It is strange, Cole thinks, because he has never felt tired before. But as he watches the rise and fall of her chest like he does every night, he relents. He wraps himself around her and she nuzzles into his neck. He kisses her forehead and strokes her hair, and when he closes his eyes, he is lost to the fade, just as every other man or woman would be.

* * *

He hovers over her, his hair tickling her face. She giggles and smiles as he presses his forehead against hers, and he nuzzles into the crook of her neck. He is whispering, softly so that she can’t hear, but the soft murmurs of his voice reverberate through her body, and Evelyn loves it. She wraps her arms around his neck from underneath him and pulls him close to steal a kiss.

He is good at kissing, she learns, much better now than he was when they shared their first kiss. Perhaps it was something to do with all the minds he touched, all the thoughts he read? How many kisses had he witnessed under the guise of a flickering spirit, unseen by all?

Even if he was terrible, she doesn’t mind. He smells of a campfire, and he warms her heart as it flickers in unison with his own. He kisses her mouth, her cheeks, her neck. He kisses her everywhere, and she loves it. She loves him, and he loves her too, and Evelyn has never felt more complete.

He trails his tongue down her neck and kisses her collarbone gently, which gives her chills. Softly, she moans as he kisses a tender spot against her neck, and Cole kisses her again to elicit more moans. Her heart is pounding as he tangles himself around her, and as she laces her fingers through his hair she realises how rough her breaths are.

Coles trails his tongue against the sweet spot of her neck, experimenting as Evelyn moans softly. She encourages him, whispering softly to him, and he sucks her neck gingerly. Evelyn gasps as she grips onto his hair, and when he stops and returns to her lips, she realises that his breaths are even heavier than her own.

“I love you, Evelyn.” He tells her. She nods and whispers a soft reply. Evelyn can feel the heat rising up inside her, her silk sleepwear suddenly too hot and too sticky. Cole reaches for the ends of her shirt and begins to pull them up as he kisses her again, and Evelyn remembers with a start that he can so easily tap into her thoughts.

“Cole.” She says, embarrassed. She places her hands gently against his, stopping him from tugging her shirt.

“I want to see you, Evelyn.” He says to her. She feels a hot rush of nerves bolt through her chest, and it make her feel nervous, wet. “I want to touch you.”

Evelyn closes her eyes, unsure when exactly it became so hot. She lets out a long and heavy sigh, and for a while she says nothing, but Cole doesn’t move. He looks at her patiently, fingers still clutching at her clothes but unwilling to move without her consent. The thought touches her, and she loves this boy more than she has loved anything ever before.

“I want to touch you too.” She whispers to him. She reaches up for his jacket, and he moves in time with her, straddling her to find balance as her removes it and throws it to the floor. He leans down again and kisses her, his tongue hot against her own as he pulls her silken shirt up and over her head. She arches her back as he slides it across her body, and soon it is thrown away too.

She reaches nervously for the ends of his undershirt. His fingers brush against her own as he reaches to pull it off before reaching for the elastic of her pants. Soon, between sheets and kisses, the only thing that remains between them is their small clothes, and Evelyn feels too nervous to continue. He drinks the sight of her, which embarrasses her more.

“White.” He says, reference her small clothes. “They’re pretty.” She giggles at his innocence. He is a blessing to her, a man who loves _her_ , not her breasts or her body. He loves _her_ , he loves her body because it is _her_ body. She smiles and kisses him again, a newfound vigour inspiring her.

She pushes against him, making him sit up as she wraps her legs around him and straddles him. His hands run against her back as she grips his neck, pulling him close so she can drink in his taste. His breathing is so jagged, hot and scarce against her own. She moves her hips gently against his, a soft grinding motion that grows stronger and stronger as she feels him pressing hard into her thighs.

Reaching behind her, she undoes the clasp of her brassiere and tosses it aside. Cole stops for a moment, pulls away to look at her breasts. They aren’t exactly huge, she was never quite as well-endowed as other women, but they suited her fine and never got in the way. He is fascinated by them, she can tell. He had seen breasts before during their travels, through all sorts of villages and slums, but Evelyn realises never this close. It confuses him, she thinks, as it’s not like he has any of his own.

To her surprise, Cole presses a kiss to her breast, sliding his tongue across her left nipple as he flicks it softly. She gasps and grips at his hair again, moaning as he flutters his tongue across it and begins to suck. She bucks her hips harder against him, and she can hear him gasping as he grows harder against her hips.

Cole gently pushes her off his lap, laying her down against the pillow again as he hovers above her. As he presses his tongue against her neck and sucks at that sweet spot he had found before, Evelyn reaches down and pulls at her underwear. His hands glide above hers as he pulls them down, a wet trail sliding down her neck, chest and stomach as he removes it.

“Can I touch you?” he asks her, placing gentle kisses on her stomach. Evelyn smiles and nods. When she feels his tongue trail lower, she catches her breath. He licks her gently, tongue gliding with care across her most sensitive regions. She gasps at the feeling and spreads her legs as he pushes closer to her, trailing his tongue across her. Evelyn moans and softly laces a hand through his hair as she clutches the bed sheets with the other. He is nervous and awkward, and at times his tongue flicks across a region that elicits no pleasure, but she loves every moment of it regardless, filing it away in her mind as one she will never forget. When the tip of his tongue pushes against her clitoris, Evelyn moans and whispers to him, and he listens and focuses on it as she gasps.

She is close to the edge, breathless at the way he touches her. When he stops, she sighs heavily, and he returns to her side to kiss her lips. She wants to whine, but she doesn’t, instead taking his tongue with her own when her presses against her. His fingers trail down her stomach and he presses them against the folds between her legs, rubbing her gently.

With his fingers, the feeling is stronger, more precise, and she appreciates his forethought. _Cole_ , she whispers through jagged breaths. He sucks her neck red and raw as he rubs his fingers against and into her, listening closely to her gasps and moans and focusing on the areas that he can _hear_ feel the best. She bucks her hips against his hand, back arched as she grips her fingers into the skin of his back.

“ _Cole_.” She moans again, louder this time as she feels an overwhelming urge of pleasure building inside her. He whispers her name back, breathing roughly into her ear. Evelyn holds her breath as a pleasure shoots through her like lightning, a jolt that shocks her lower regions and pulsates through her chest. She holds her breath, unwillingly to yelp or whimper like she wants, fearful of who might hear her.

She whispers a shaky _thank you_ to Cole, who nuzzles against her neck. Evelyn bunches her hands into his hair, holding him close as he kisses her chest.

“I want to feel you, Evelyn.” He says to her. He kisses her lips between breaths and whispers. “I want to be inside of you.”

“Yes.” She whispers, reaching for his small clothes that still cling to his hot and sweat ridden body. “Please.”

She pulls them down, and he helps her. He throws that last piece of garment separating them to the floor. Evelyn has never seen a man naked before. She has seen diagrams, of course, studied them in books at the Ostwick circle, but never seen a man before her, atop her, naked, hot and sweaty. She is unused to the sight, but it is Cole, and she loves Cole, so she loves his body too.

Evelyn wraps her legs around his waist, and he leans and presses his body against her. He kisses and sucks her neck again, another swollen bruise amongst many that litter her neck and shoulders. He bucks his hips against hers, and she matches his movements, timing them awkwardly, unused to the way she has to move her hips.

He rubs against the inside of her thighs, hips bucking roughly with unpractised and untimed motions. She presses her tongue against his own then begs to him in a soft whimper.

He adjusts his hips and pushes awkwardly against her, obviously unsure where to enter. Evelyn reaches down with a smile and helps direct him, and once he finds her entrance, he begins to slowly push into her.

Evelyn gasps, unused to the feeling. He is, well, _big_ , or at least he feels that way due to her inexperience. He pushes too deep though, too fast, and she gasps and flinches in pain. Cole stops the second he hears her, instantly pressing his foreheads against hers and whispering rapidly.

“I’m hurting you.” He quickly whispers in hushed murmurs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Evelyn.” The hurt in his voice makes her want to cry. She quickly cups his face and kisses him, shaking her head.

“No.” she tells him, but he stops and kisses her cheek.

“You’re lying.” Cole says, but Evelyn shakes her head again.

“It hurts a little.” She admits. “But I don’t want you to stop. Please don’t stop. Please, Cole.”

“Are you sure?” he asks after a long pause. She nods and smiles at him, looking into his silver-grey eyes. They are filled with a lust and longing she never thought would be directed at her. He kisses her again, deeply, tongue dancing with hers for a time before he tries again.

It still hurts when he pushes into her, but Evelyn tolerates. He thrusts slowly into her, gently as he watches her as best he can when no doubt a thousand jolts of pleasure shoot through his body. When he fills her completely and begins to pull away, Evelyn gasps at the strange feeling. It is pleasurable, not as much as when he licked her or rubbed his fingers into her, but it is _different_ and incomparable to that.

When he thrusts against her again, Evelyn moans. The feeling is _filling_ , she admits, as if he completes her, like a missing puzzle piece. When he does it again, Evelyn bucks her hips against him. She can hear Cole gasping with each thrust, and as the pauses between them grow shorter, his gasps turn to moans.

Evelyn’s breath is hot and short, and as Cole thrusts harder and faster into her, she finds herself lost in an inexplicable feeling of pleasure that completes her. He is moaning and murmuring into her skin, soft and broken whispers pushed against her. _Evelyn_ , she hears many times, and she can hear him whisper about her skin, the curve of her breast, the wet and warmth between her legs, and so much more as he narrates the experience to her. She can’t hear him completely, but it doesn’t bother her, because she thinks she knows exactly what he says. Evelyn tries to time her bucking hips with his, but it is difficult. Cole doesn’t care though, moaning her name in the bed sheets and he pushes into her again and again.

She groans his name and feels his skin sticky with sweat. The rhythmic slap of his thrusts echoes through the room between their mixed moans. He calls to her between them, her named jagged on his lips, then suddenly not at all as he gasps loudly against her. Evelyn feels hot and warm between her legs, moaning as she feels him filling her. His thrusts are slow now, and soon they come to a stop, and he slumps atop her and stays inside her for a moment longer, both of them catching their breaths.

When he pulls out of her, Evelyn pushes him gently onto his back and hovers over him, resting atop her elbows. She gingerly presses a kiss against his closed eyelids, tracing one finger against his cheek and down to his chest. She kisses his lips, and when he returns it, it is not passionate or raw, but tender and loving. She lies next to him and he turns to her, holding her tightly. They stay like that, silent, for a long while, and Evelyn drinks in his warmth and his smell and he pushes his face into her hair. Softly, he whispers to her between breaths.

“Tender, gentle, her skin is soft to touch. She smells of roses and tea and tastes like honeyed fruits. She whispers my name to me every night, and I feel complete, at home, at peace. I love her.”

Evelyn smiles and sighs sweetly, content.

“I love you too.” She tells him, and she closes her eyes.


End file.
